A Week in the Life of Gilbert Beilschmidt, His Prussian Awesomeness
by fullmoon'11
Summary: Gilbert's week, before and after the winter dance. High school AU. Contains mentions of Spamano, Ger x fem! Ita, possible USUK, AusHun, and possibly one-sided PruHun. Rated K for swearing and violence.


**Title:** A Week in the Life of Gilbert Beilschmidt, His Prussian Awesomeness

**Author: **fullmoon'11

**Summary:** Gilbert's week, before and after the winter dance. High school AU.

**A/N:** Written for **kilikxar **as a very, very late Christmas present. Merry Christmas!

**Characters/ Pairings:** contains implied Spamano, Ger x fem! Ita, USUK, AusHun and possible one-sided PruHun (meaning that it's not implied if she likes him back or not, get it? Haha... no? Drat it.) Thus, chaos ensues.

* * *

"Get back here, you evil albino!"

"Kesese, no can do, crazy frying pan wielding woman!" he called, red eyes glinting mischievously as he spotted his target.

"Oh no you don't!" His vision explodes with sparks as a frying pan accurately finds its way through the air and in front of the faces of several scared-to-death students to its final destination, his head. He can still see, though the world spins. He takes aim and throws.

Roderich Edelstein, musician and well-dressed gentleman that he is, can only gape as an apple flies towards him. A frying pan follows, and, fearing for his life and sanity, he ducks, only to find that the frying pan has hit Gilbert Beilschmidt, self-proclaimed awesome, in the head, and the apple has missed him and hit the locker instead. It rolls, bruised but still whole, onto the floor, and stops in front of a pair of laced up combat boots.

"GILBERT MARIAN BEILSCHMIDT! YOU DO NOT ATTACK RODDY!" a scream split the air, and an expression of fear crossed the face of the albino.

"Schiebe, Roddy, save me! The she-devil's after me, take pity on me," he wailed, using said Roderich Edelstein as a meat shield against the might of the fuming Hungarian woman.

Roderich smooths out his ruffled coat and shakes off the albino. "You deserve it, Gilbert." he sniffs before walking away. Elizaveta Hedervary, master of throwing frying pans, small rabbits, and anything else, followed, her excited chatter a large contrast to the anger she displayed only a few moments ago.

"I swear she's bipolar," Gilbert mutters, staring at her retreating back.

"I heard that."

Another frying pan, which connects again, and he slumps to the ground in a dead faint.

* * *

"Tomorrow's the day of the winter dance, mein bruder! Anyone you're asking?" He swung an arm around his taller brother's shoulders, forcing Ludwig to bend over and speak to him face to face.

"What are you talking about, Gil?" Ludwig replied, though his face betrayed his emotions. A red blush spread across his pale cheeks.

"Oho, so you are asking someone!" Gilbert crowed happily, enjoying every moment of his brother's embarrassment.

"Who I ask is none of your business, bruder!" Ludwig protested.

"Looks like Luddy's growing up," he teased.

"Then how about you, brother? Aren't you going to ask Elizaveta?"

"That she-male? No way in hell!"

"Bruder…"

"What?"

"Can you get your arm off me now?"

Gilbert laughed. "Fine, fine, but you've got to tell me who you're deciding to ask!"

Ludwig blushed. "Well, do you know Feliciana?"

"That Italian chick? With that crazy vicious brother who calls everyone a bastard and has the hots for Toni? Isn't that her up ahead?"

And indeed, Feliciana was standing in the hallway, waving happily to Ludwig. "Luddy, Luddy, let's go make pasta!"

Ludwig looked hesitantly between his brother and the girl. Gilbert smiled and turned away, walking in the other direction. His brother was one lucky person.

* * *

"How should I ask her…" he mused, walking around the school courtyard. Hearing a hallway door open, he hid behind a handy bush.

Elizaveta's laugh. Someone else chuckling with her.

"Would you like to go to the winter dance with me, Lizzie?"

_Would you like to go to the winter dance with me, Lizzie?_ The question echoes mockingly around his own head. He is too afraid to ask, too afraid of rejection to try.

A squeal of happiness, and a very loudly exclaimed "Yes!" follow. The hallway door opens again, and the two go back inside. He sits there, unable to comprehend what has just happened.

Someone asked Elizaveta Hedervary, crazy she-devil and terror of the male population (excluding a few), to the winter dance.

Just before he was going to. He had it all prepared.

He leaves, disappointment and fatigue weighing his steps down. His house seems to be on the other end of the Earth, and by the time he reaches it, he will be an old, old man.

He ponders. Why did he not ask her?

_Because she was going to reject you. Because she would only laugh it off as a trick._

Then he realizes. That voice was familiar.

_The bastard._

* * *

_He and Lizzie are a couple._ The only thought echoing through his head. He is happy for them, of course. Of course he is happy. Why would he not be?

He sits, alone, in the darkened room, watching as the sun sinks slowly over the horizon, making no move to turn on the lights, even after the last bit of sunlight has died.

His red eyes are surprisingly wet by the time he finally gets up. He wipes them on his sleeve, sniffles, and stands. It is well past midnight, and Ludwig has left a bowl of Königsberger Klopse by his door, though it is cold by now. He picks up the spoon and mechanically shovels it into his mouth.

_Roddy and Lizzie are a couple._

That fact mocks him as he slumps on his bed, red eyes wide and unblinking.

* * *

"Gilbert, you look terrible."

He grumbles unintelligibly in reply, his silver-white head propped up on one arm.

"How many hours did you sleep last night? One? Two?"

He groans. "Go 'way, Liz, I'm tryin' to sleep."

She huffs and stomps away.

"What's wrong with him today?" Roderich asks.

_That bastard._

"I don't know, just a late night, I guess." she replies. Roderich draws her into a gentle hug.

He turns away, unable to bear the sight of those two together.

* * *

"Hello, Gilbert."

He stiffens. This voice belongs to him.

"What do you want?"

"You know, she's really worried about you."

"I don't care. Go away."

But he didn't. When he spoke again, it was with quiet contempt.

"Don't think I don't know how you feel towards her. If you really loved her, why'd you give up?"

He leaves. Gilbert ponders some more, before he decides that that is enough pondering for the day and promptly falls asleep.

* * *

Within a week, he is back to being his noisy, obnoxious old self. Elizaveta dumped Roderich after he accidentally tripped her at the dance. _Sounds like something the crazy woman would do_, he thinks to himself, gleefully cackling at his rival's demise.

"You seem awfully happy today, Gilbert. Should I take that as a good sign or a bad sign?" Arthur Kirkland, resident punk at Hetalia High, asks.

"Oh, don't be so stuffy, Brows! Roddy had it coming!" he crows with delight.

"He got it coming, eh?" a third voice spoke up.

"Oh, hello, Elizaveta."

"Arthur! Now, let me ask you, what do you think of Alfred?" she asked as she forcibly frogmarched Arthur down the hallway, away from Gilbert. Her eyes sparkled with fervor and struggle as he might, Arthur can't break out of her iron grip, and he flushes furiously as she begins to ask him questions.

_Help me_, Arthur silently mouthed at Gilbert. Gilbert only chuckled and shook his head, responding with an equally silent_ I like my head where it is_.

* * *

It is evening again, and Gilbert is sitting on the edge of his roof, smiling at the sunset.

Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he'd ask Elizaveta.


End file.
